


let me find a little bit of peace (here with you)

by Lywinis



Series: Lo(v)er - Carve it in the Bridge: A Reddie ficlet/one-shot listing [11]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24018337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lywinis/pseuds/Lywinis
Summary: Richie has nightmares, sometimes.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Lo(v)er - Carve it in the Bridge: A Reddie ficlet/one-shot listing [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686373
Comments: 2
Kudos: 95





	let me find a little bit of peace (here with you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bearfeathers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearfeathers/gifts), [birkin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/birkin/gifts).



> frankensteined said:  
>  prompt: “Hear that? I’m alive. I’m right here.” for reddie!
>     
>     
>       
>     
>     And in the middle of the night
>     I may watch you go
>     There'll be no value in the strength
>     Of walls that I have grown
>     There'll be no comfort in the shade
>     Of the shadows thrown
>     But I'd be yours if you'd be mine
>     
>     
>     
>     - Mumford and Sons, _"Lover of the Light"_
>     
>     
>     

Richie can't _**breathe**_.

His whole body is keyed toward the limp form in his arms, a keening echoing through the cavern. It cuts through the flicker-fade of the strobing light, not the Deadlights but not useful for human eyes; he gets snapshots where he should have full video, the headlamp Eddie wore long lost, scattered in pieces across the stone floor of the cistern.

The noise is coming from him, a high thin shriek, the air escaping from a red balloon—the mouth and neck stretched taut to draw out the sound.

His fingers, covered in dried blood, fist in the back of Eddie's jacket. Eddie would hate this, he realizes. His fingers would stain the coat, and he'd—

The gaping hole has already ruined the jacket.

He can feel the tears cutting streaks through the filth that stains his face, and the noise has long since turned into a soundless wail. He can't hear anything anymore, save for the thud of his own heartbeat in his ears. He can't hear Eddie breathing in sucking, wet puffs against his ear, can't hear his labored gasps of pain—

He's going to die down here. He doesn't want to leave him.

He doesn't hear the pounding on his door. All he sees is marigold.

“— ** _Rich_** —” Eddie is in his ear and he inhales, a wet, blurry gasp as dream doesn't so much bleed into reality as it gets punched down like dough, resolving itself into Eddie shaking his shoulder.

Richie shoots up to a sitting position, nearly headbutting Eddie, who squawks as Richie's arms clamp around him and Richie's fingers fist in the back of the t-shirt Eddie wore to bed. He's shaking, juddering through the transition from asleep to awake, head buried in Eddie's shoulder.

“Jesus, Rich.” Eddie's arms circle around him, and Richie remembers as the last vestiges of the dream fade away. Eddie had made it. They all had. They had. Eddie had a gnarly scar to prove it; so did Stan. Honestly, they all did. 

Some were just more visible than others.

“You all right?” Eddie's voice is worried, his fingers dancing against the muscle of Richie's back, as though he's not sure where to touch.

“You heard me,” Richie says, his voice muffled. “I'm...fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up—”

“I wasn't asleep,” Eddie informs him, his voice curt. “I was up working on a file and I heard—”

“Still,” Richie says, making to back off. To his surprise, Eddie doesn't let him go. The arms encircling him tug him back in, and Richie's not inclined to move just yet anyway, feeling like he's run a mile. He aches, all over.

“I'm right here,” Eddie says, instead, one hand coming up to brush through the sweat-damp hair at the nape of Richie's neck. Richie makes a broken noise, his arms coming up around Eddie's back again as he hugs him close. “Hear that? I'm right here. I'm alive. Rich. I'm right here.”

Richie's frantic breathing slows, and his eyes are damp, but the solid, soothing timbre of Eddie's voice and the feel of Eddie breathing in his arms is enough to unlock the rigid lines of his elbows and knees, relaxing his joints as he slowly calms. Eddie talks like he's calming a spooked animal, and maybe that's what he is, the fear of the dream still very real in the back of Richie's mind.

But it's fading.

He remembers now, in the wake of being pulled abruptly from the dream. Eddie had moved in a week and a half ago, needing a place to stay while he started over. They'd settled into a comfortable routine almost immediately—

And then this.

Richie almost hates this, showing Eddie this part. He hadn't had one of these dreams in six months, there was no telling what triggered it—

“Rich,” Eddie says.

“Yeah?” Richie says, his voice muffled against the muscle of Eddie's shoulder.

“I have them too, sometimes,” he says. “Don't...I can feel you fucking gearing up to make a joke and push it all away, but it's—”

“Eds,” Richie says, but he can feel Eddie shake his head rather than see it.

“No. Fuck you. Don't push me away, man.” Eddie's fingers dig into his back and Richie shudders. “It's okay. I'm here.”

Eddie's shoulder is damp from tears Richie doesn't even realize he's shed, but he must have, his face is wet and he feels wrung out.

“Okay,” Richie says, too exhausted to put up the facade. He's been sleeping like shit for months, maybe it was time for a different tactic.

“You gonna be okay to go back to sleep?” Eddie asks.

“I don't think so,” Richie says.

“Come on,” Eddie says, sitting back at last, leaving Richie blinking at the blur that Eddie becomes when he backs away. He fumbles for his glasses on his nightstand. “Couch. Meet me there.”

Dumbly, Richie kicks away the tangled blankets, gathering a pillow and trailing Eddie into the living room. Eddie stops off in his room and comes out with blankets over his shoulder, his laptop in his other hand, and a pillow for himself.

Eddie settles on the corner of the couch that has the built in ottoman, spreading one blanket over his lap and then patting the couch beside himself.

“Come on,” Eddie says. Richie gets it now, taking the other blanket and cocooning himself close to Eddie, the pillow between them as he gets as close as he dares. Eddie huffs.

“Asshole. _Come_. _**Here**_.” He tugs at Richie until Richie is pillowed with his head in Eddie's lap, his ear pressed against Eddie's middle. He can hear Eddie breathing. “There. What do you wanna watch?”

“Dunno,” Richie mumbles, still sleep muzzy and suddenly very, very tired. Eddie selects a baking show, queuing it up on the television and turning it down low so that it's a dull murmur. Richie's already drifting, but he doesn't miss the way Eddie's fingers card through his hair.

God help him but he loves him. Richie closes his eyes, the sound of clinking spoons and Eddie's breathing lulling him back to sleep.

This time, he doesn't dream.

**Author's Note:**

> We can all have a little hurt/comfort. You know, as a treat. I think Eddie has nightmares just the same, but we may get to that, later. Thank you for reading. If you like, you can come see me on tumblr and [prompt](https://lywinis.tumblr.com/post/617114277746278400/prompt-list-i) me there!


End file.
